Artoria stepped out of the abyssal void, her heavy armor clinking with each deliberate step.
The sinister, vein-like patterns crawled up her face again, accentuating her elegant yet fearsome visage. Her golden eyes glimmered coldly, fixed on Susanoo with an indifference that felt like she was staring at a corpse unworthy of her attention.
"You're shocked. Afraid. Because the trap you so meticulously designed has failed," Artoria said, her voice calm and measured as she locked eyes with the god.
"You seem confused. It's not hard to understand, really. My strength simply surpasses yours… It's that straightforward."
Susanoo didn't respond, his lips pressed into a thin line. To Artoria, his silence was tiresome.
"This is your last chance," she said, her tone devoid of sympathy. "If you have no other tricks… I'll kill you."
Through the records of the Underworld, Susanoo had "seen" Artoria countless times.
But this was their first meeting in person.
Now, standing before her, with her oppressive aura crashing over him like a tidal wave, Susanoo's mind wavered.
"Hmph! Fine, I'll admit it. You're stronger than I expected," Susanoo said, his bones cracking audibly as he straightened his posture, his form seeming to grow larger. "I underestimated your strength, witch!"
The word "witch" caused a slight, almost imperceptible twitch in Artoria's brow.
"But," he continued, his tone tinged with derision, "are you sure about this?"
Susanoo's expression shifted into what might have been mistaken for confidence, though it reeked of bravado.
"I can feel it—your bloodlust. You're a seasoned warrior, a battle-hardened hero. Surely you know that arrogance and underestimating your opponent will only lead to your downfall!"
"I'm not worried."
Artoria waved her hand dismissively, her voice utterly nonchalant.
"Because you're weak."
At that moment, something seemed to snap.
Susanoo's shoulders began to tremble slightly. Whether from fury or disbelief, it was impossible to tell.
Artoria, unconcerned with his reaction, continued in the same detached tone: "I don't see how I could possibly lose to you."
Susanoo's head lowered, his face obscured by shadow. His shoulders shook more visibly now, and the air around him grew suffocating.
It was the eerie stillness before a hurricane, a calm that foretold annihilation.
Boom!
A deafening clap of thunder shattered the silence.
The clear sky turned dark once more, thick clouds swirling overhead like spilled ink.
Susanoo, the God of Storms, unleashed his fury. Lightning rained down from the heavens as his rage manifested in the tempest around them.
"How dare you… you wretched witch!"
Susanoo's laughter erupted, guttural and deranged, his face twisting into something monstrous. His black hair and beard stood on end like a lion's mane, and his violent divine energy surged forth, creating a towering cyclone.
"I don't know how you managed it—wrapping yourself in the shell of the Last King, stealing a fragment of his power—but that's all you are. A fraud!"
"Let me show you what true [Steel] looks like!"
Susanoo raised his arms to the heavens, his voice reverberating through the storm.
"I am Susanoo-no-Mikoto! One of the three noble children of Takamagahara! O blade of a thousand cuts, return to my hand at once!"
He was summoning his divine weapon.
According to legend, Susanoo had used a ten-fist sword to slay Yamata no Orochi, eventually extracting another blade from the serpent's tail.
That blade would become one of Japan's Three Imperial Regalia.
It was known as the [Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi], or the [Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi].
The essence of [Steel] lies in the act of "plundering the authority of Earth Mother deities (dragon-serpents)," and the tale of Susanoo extracting the sword from Yamata no Orochi perfectly embodied this principle.
Thus, with the [Kusanagi] in hand, Susanoo stood as one of the mightiest [Steel] deities.
The boundary separating the mortal world and the Underworld cracked open, allowing the sword to fly into Susanoo's waiting grasp.
The blade emitted a sharp, chilling presence, its murderous intent locking onto Artoria like a predator marking its prey.
Here in the Underworld, where divine power was unshackled, Susanoo could unleash his full might.
Artoria felt the storm's pressure bearing down on her, as if the howling winds were stripping away her warmth, dragging her spirit into the depths of an ocean.
"See that? This is my true form!"
Susanoo's savage grin widened as he continued his boast:
"I am the storm! I am the strongest! The god who smites southern barbarians, northern invaders, eastern savages, and western outlanders alike! I am the God of War, the eradicator of heretics!"
Before the echoes of his words faded, Susanoo lunged.
With the [Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi] in hand, his blade cut through the storm itself, drawing the full might of his divine power—raging winds, torrential rain, and a boundless sea—all into a single strike aimed at Artoria's slender neck.
"Die! Hahaha! Hahahahaha!"
Susanoo roared with laughter, his wild eyes fixed on Artoria's face.
He wanted to see her expression change—wanted to see her indifference crumble into fear, desperation, or even terror.
But his hopes were dashed.
Her expression remained impassive, her eyes cold and emotionless.
She wasn't even looking at him. Her gaze seemed to pierce through him, fixed on some far-off point beyond his reach.
And just as his supposedly unstoppable strike neared its target, Artoria finally moved.
With casual precision, she tossed her sword from her right hand to her left. The metallic ring of the hilt meeting her gauntlet echoed faintly, though it was quickly drowned out by the roar of the storm.
Yet, amid the chaos, her voice rang clear.
"Vortigern, Hammer of the Vile King,"
"Reverse the rising sun."
"Swallow the light,"
"[Excalibur Morgan]!!!"
A flash of black light erupted like a tidal wave, swallowing the oncoming tempest.
And then… the sea vanished.
Artoria lowered her sword, letting its tip rest against the ground.
Behind her, Susanoo stood motionless.
His legs remained planted firmly, but everything above his waist was gone.
Black flames writhed across his smoldering remains, clinging stubbornly to the charred flesh. They burned with an unholy intensity, as if tiny demons from hell were feasting on his divine essence.
The acrid stench of scorched flesh filled the sweltering air.
The [Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi] lay nearby, shattered. Only a fragment of the blade remained, its edges molten and twisted.
What's more, the sword's spirit—its divine essence—was completely gone.
It was as if the weapon itself had died.
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T/N: wow he really was weak